


On the Cusp

by Anonymous



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Battle, Brotherhood, Friendship, Gen, Missing Aramis, quote prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's gone."</p><p>"Alright, what we gonna do?"</p><p>"Find him, before he gets himself killed."</p><p>- Exiles</p><p>Three times they had to find Aramis before he got himself killed, and one time he had to find them instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Cusp

Part 1/4

 **\---**  
  
Still clutching the bloodied tang of his sword, Porthos fought to catch his breath as he turned in a circle and scanned the sloping hillside. Downed ruffians from the mercenary troop were scattered before him, most clearly dead. Crude weapons and daggers littered the ground and the smell of spent black powder hung heavily in the air.  
  
On the far side of the field, d'Artagnan was pulling his sword from his final attacker. Chest heaving as the man who'd met his blade-point dropped to his knees and then toppled sideways without a sound. After, d'Artagnan's eyes found Porthos's as though by instinct, the silence of the dawn settling between them.   
  
"Athos?" Porthos called in question, habitually calming his breathing even as his lungs tensed behind his ribs. This part of battle—this accounting for his brothers—being the part he disliked most about fighting. Hating it for the very real fear that always seized him without the distraction of violence to balance and focus it.   
  
"Last I saw him, he was being backed towards the river!" d'Artagnan called back, his face and body already turning in that direction.  
  
"I'm here," said Athos abruptly, appearing from the flat thicket of trees cutting across the waterway. A smear of blood blurred over his left ear, but he was steady on his feet and his posture remained lithe and tense as he glanced between them.   
  
"Aramis?" asked d'Artagnan.  
  
Athos cursed and kept walking.  Swiftly, Porthos fell into step beside him with d'Artagnan bringing up the rear. "Didn't he keep to the trees?" asked Porthos.   
  
Athos nodded, scanning the horizon as he moved towards the horses. "He was providing me with cover but a contingent broke off from the main and circled north. They would have overrun his position." He vaulted himself into his saddle as he spoke.  
  
"Or he might have seen what they were doing and turned to circle round himself," speculated Porthos, steadying a hand to his horse’s flank and following suit.  
  
Drawing his knees in for balance in the saddle in a way that showed preparation for a hard ride, Athos met Porthos’s eyes without pausing in his movements for even a moment. "Either way, we need to find him. Now!"  
  
"Which way do we go?" asked d'Artagnan, tucking in his reins and circling about.   
  
"We should cut through the shallows," answered Porthos, already trotting his horse in that direction, the flex of its tense muscles reflecting the burn in his own. "If Aramis stayed ahead of them, he would have tried to keep that opening for himself, and for us."  
  
As though voicing the mere thought had lit a fire, Athos's steed was already ahead of them, picking up speed as it galloped into the splash of water winding out of the field.  
  
"Hah!" yelled Porthos, working to catch up.  "Hah!"  
  
Behind him, d'Artagnan made the same sound, kicking in his heels as he deftly scrabbled after.  
  
\---  
  
The shallow water, trickling weakly over stones, gave them the opening they needed to cut through the wall of trees sheltering the battlefield. They were barely around the next bend and trotting their horses up through the mud at the river's edge when the sound of clashing swords reached their ears, followed swiftly by the cracking burst of two muskets firing in close succession.   
  
"Aramis!" Porthos heard d'Artagnan yell, but Athos's horse swerved in front of him and he couldn't see what d'Artagnan might have been reacting to.

Leaping from his mount just as they pushed through the final thickets and into the open space beyond the bank, Porthos found himself immediately set upon. His sword rang and vibrated as he swung up to block the sudden blows, trying to track his comrades as he did so.  
  
Athos and d'Artagnan were a flurry of movement—d'Artagnan's sword clanging smartly in the wake of Athos firing his musket. None of them spoke, but Porthos could still hear Athos's cool command in his head— _We will make short work of this, gentlemen. Your opponent first, then Aramis._  
  
With a deep and calming breath, Porthos twisted and parried, twisted again, and caught the sword coming at him with the hilt of his own.  With shear power, he slid the blades up together, drawing his opponent close.  When he was near enough to breathe upon, Porthos stared down into the scowl of the man he was fighting and, without the finesse of Aramis or the grace of Athos, brought his parrying dagger around with his other hand and sent it home, not even waiting for the surprise to slip from his opponent's face before he spun away, scanning for the brother he still hadn't seen.  
  
Then—a shout from the shallows. "Porthos!"  
  
On his knees in the mud, a pale and soaked Aramis—with a trickle of blood running straight down the middle of his forehead—was fumbling to load his flintlock. When he lifted it to aim directly at him, Porthos stared numbly for half a second before recognizing the look in Aramis's eye. He dropped to the left, feeling his elbow bruise itself against the rocks as Aramis fired, musket ball striking true into the mercenary that'd been coming up behind him.  
  
Porthos was back on his feet in an instant, blade ready, but the echo of Aramis's shot was all that was left. Beyond the heavy breathing and the dull moving sound from the river, the morning had returned to silence. "Aramis," he murmured, rushing over and reaching him just about the same time as Athos did.  
  
Aramis had dropped his chin to his chest, his weapons discarded as though he no longer had the strength to hold them up. The shoulder Porthos clutched his hand to was twitching and shuddering under his touch. 

"Look at me," commanded Athos, kneeling in the mud himself and taking Aramis's face up in his hands. "Look at me."  
  
"I'm all right," Aramis panted breathlessly, letting Athos palpate his scalp. "I'm all right.  Just… need… to catch… my breath," he gasped, clearly trying to slow his lungs, and gave them a weak smile. "You got here… just… in the nick… of time."  
  
Athos watched him for a long moment, then breathed and sat back, the straight line of his spine looking suddenly looser. "May it always be so," he said, one eyebrow wryly lifting, though his face showed the seriousness of the statement.  
  
Porthos tightened his fingers, sliding his hand over to grip the back of Aramis's neck. "I'll second that," he said, solemn with relief.  In tandem with Athos, he adjusted his grip once more as they reached down to haul their brother to his feet.

Upright, Aramis swayed in their grip, still breathing tightly as d'Artagnan stepped close to face him, standing silently with his arms folded.  
  
Collectively, they waited.  
  
After a beat, d'Artagnan smiled and pressed his palm out, tapping it once to Aramis's chest. "May it always be so," he agreed. "Though, I for one could do without the _just in the nick of time part_ next time. If you please."  
  
Aramis laughed, ribs fluttering against the wrap of Porthos's hold. "And that, I will second," he said, turning his head to stare at Porthos, eyes sliding over his chest as though imagining the sword wounds and bullet holes he'd just narrowly escaped. "For all of us."  
  
Porthos traded a look with Athos, and smiled, the heat of battle finally curling back from his skin. "For all of us, then," he agreed, tangling his hand into the nape of Aramis’s hair and giving it a gentle shake. "For all of us."  
  
\---  
  
Three parts to go!  They might be slow in coming, but I'll do my best.


End file.
